Only time will tell
by ekc293
Summary: "She hated herself for it but she couldn't lie down, she couldn't force herself to close her eyes and drift off, the thought alone making the pain flare up in her chest." future!fic. character death.


I sort of hate this but I'm feeling emotionally gutted right now and I actually really hate this but whatever right.

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_And I know that only time will tell me how -_

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She hated herself for it but she couldn't lie down, she couldn't force herself to close her eyes and drift off, the thought alone making the pain flare up in her chest.

It wasn't worth it.

Instead, she sat in the chair next to the bed, her fingers curled around his as they sat on the crisp white sheets, her eyes locked on his closed ones.

She tuned out the sounds of the room around her – the buzzing machines, the sounds of the orderlies in the hallway, the other patients – focusing instead on his breathing.

Still breathing.

She let her thumb brush over the back of his knuckles, his skin pale and cool to the touch.

He was dying.

She bit back the fresh wave of tears, let out a stuttering breath as she moved her eyes away from his face, his white hair and the laugh lines around his eyes, back down to their hands.

"You should go home."

She looked up from their hands slowly to catch his gaze, his eyes hazy and she wasn't sure if it was concern or exhaustion.

She shook her head.

"You need to sleep," he said again.

She squeezed his hand, giving him a small smile.

"I'm fine."

"Kate –"

"No," she said, her voice as strong as she could manage, "I'm staying."

He gave her the slightest nod before he lifted his head off the pillow, tilting towards her slightly, his eyes narrowing in concentration for a moment before he spoke again.

"You're crying."

"I'm not."

"Kate."

She couldn't deny him anything before. It was only worse now. He said her name as if the word was a relief – a plea and a question and a delicacy all at once and she knew how hard it was for him to speak now.

He was dying.

"I don't know how to do this without you," she admitted quietly, shrugging her shoulders slightly, "I'm not sure I knew how to do it before you."

"Do what?"

"Live."

His eyes widen briefly before his eyes flickered with understanding.

She was scared.

"How long have you known me?" he whispered.

"Forty-eight years," she whispered.

His eyes sparkled, those blue eyes that she'd seen for so many years, "Oh, lucky you."

She rolled her eyes, a little laugh bursting out past her lips as she ducked her head. He squeezed her hand as tight as he could.

"Lucky _me_," he breathed.

She lifted her head then, met his loving gaze as he stroked his thumb over the thin skin of her knuckles.

"Forty-eight years and I've never seen you face a challenge that you haven't come out on top of. I've seen you beat serial killers, and politicians, and mob bosses; bullets, and bombs, and hypothermia. And you've always come out on top. _We _always come out on top. _This?" _he said, gesturing around the room, "is nothing. We'll come out on top of this, too."

"Of death?"

She flinched as word tripped of her tongue, squeezing his hand tighter in hers.

He nodded.

"We've done the impossible before."

She locked eyes with him, tried to keep her face from crumpling under his gaze because she was supposed to be the strong one. Forty-eight years hadn't changed that.

She wanted so desperately to believe him but death is death, and death is permanent and if all the great religions in the world that spoke of an eternal life after death were wrong, then this would be the last time she ever looked into his eyes, the last time she ever heard a new thought come out of his mouth, the last time he ever held her hand bank.

He was dying.

"Thank you," he whispered, letting their hands fall away from his lips.

"For what?" she asked just as softly.

"For giving me a chance – for letting me in all those years ago."

"I don't remember letting you in," she murmured, "suddenly you were just there."

"And I am not proud enough to believe," he said, "that I ever could have done it if you didn't want me there."

To that she had no answer.

Because she did. She had. She does.

She wants him.

And he's dying.

"You were the best thing that had ever happened to me," he whispered, "I love my family, and I always have, but it wasn't truly complete until you."

She swallowed back the tears, rolling her eyes because he expected her to, but they hit her hard, gave her those stupid, cliché butterflies in her stomach just as they always had.

"You writers and your words," she deflected.

He smiled, the smile that lit up every inch of his face, and he tugged on her hand, too weak to lift it on his own so she did all the work as he guided her hands to his lips, pressing them gently to the back of her knuckles.

"You make them come so easily."

She made a face at him before it faded into a smile she couldn't hide.

She loved him. So much.

Their hands slipped back towards the sheets and she just kept watching him, her eyes never glancing away from him even for a moment. She focused on the feathery tips of his hair, the angle of his nose, the tops of his ears she had grabbed onto so many times for so many different reasons.

She saw him start to fade away in front of her, the way his eyes started to go in and out of focus, the way his shoulders jerked slightly as he tried to keep himself awake.

"You should sleep," she said softly.

"I'm not –"

"You are. You're tired."

He stared at her for a moment and she didn't move, kept her eyes locked on his even as she felt them start to water but she couldn't look away either. She stroked her thumb over the back of his hand, linking her fingers through his until he nodded slightly, a soft breath leaving his lips and it was the first time since this entire ordeal began that she truly understood.

He was scared.

His eyelids fluttered before he wretched them open once again, his hand gripping hers as tightly as he could.

"I love you," she murmured, giving him the warmest smile she could muster, "I'll be here when you wake up."

It was the only thing she had left to give.

He opened his mouth as if he had something to say, but he said nothing, the question he wanted to ask sitting on his tongue – a promise he didn't want to burden her with.

But she knew.

"I'll be here," she whispered, "I promise."

"And then you'll sleep?"

She heard his hidden question – Will you take care of yourself after?

After –

After.

"And then I'll sleep," she promised, her voice tight.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I know," she murmured, "I love you, too."

He nodded, a sense of peace filling the room as exhaustion finally took over. She watched as he fell asleep, the tight lines of his face slowly smoothing, his eyes falling shut.

But she knew.

They both did.

He wasn't going to wake up.

And she wasn't going to fall asleep.

* * *

_- we'll carry on without each other..._


End file.
